12-07-2018, 01:21 AM
In the meadow she stands, the breeze ruffling her mane and tail in the most subtle ways: a strand wrapping around another, wild and thick and fluttering like a fairy. Naia is nothing like a fairy, though - her beauty a thin disguise for the rigid way she holds herself. She scans the meadow, eyeing the gray shadows and minimal amount of shuffling equines as the air around her spins ethereally.
From across the way, a soft green mare approaches. The warrior watches silently, offering no immediate reaction; instead, she is quiet and statuesque, certain that this woman not much older than she had intentions for her. It is mere seconds before Mary arrives, but in that short time Naia is able to note little things about her. The pale woman is a bit taller, regal, and quick. She seems a bit antsy, questioning with almost no formality. The filly decides she could probably beat her in a fight, though that is trained instinct and no fault of the other.
Naia likes Mary’s bluntness; she has never been one for small talk.
Her eyes roll down the mare’s frame then slowly back up before replying, “This is where I stay most days - a home but not much of one.” It is true, the roan girl is intensely nomadic. She spends her days cycling between the four common lands, avoiding the kingdoms at all costs, pointless in all things except for her battle practice.
“I suppose you are here to offer me one,” a simple statement, one Naia assumes to be true. The words are clipped and formal, masking the curiosity she senses stirring deep within. The chestnut watches Mary with a cool gaze, emotionless but not cruel.
From across the way, a soft green mare approaches. The warrior watches silently, offering no immediate reaction; instead, she is quiet and statuesque, certain that this woman not much older than she had intentions for her. It is mere seconds before Mary arrives, but in that short time Naia is able to note little things about her. The pale woman is a bit taller, regal, and quick. She seems a bit antsy, questioning with almost no formality. The filly decides she could probably beat her in a fight, though that is trained instinct and no fault of the other.
Naia likes Mary’s bluntness; she has never been one for small talk.
Her eyes roll down the mare’s frame then slowly back up before replying, “This is where I stay most days - a home but not much of one.” It is true, the roan girl is intensely nomadic. She spends her days cycling between the four common lands, avoiding the kingdoms at all costs, pointless in all things except for her battle practice.
“I suppose you are here to offer me one,” a simple statement, one Naia assumes to be true. The words are clipped and formal, masking the curiosity she senses stirring deep within. The chestnut watches Mary with a cool gaze, emotionless but not cruel.
@[Mary]